


Too foreign for here, too foreign for home

by ajarofgoodthings



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/F, F/M, Incest, Threesome, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:51:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7431093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajarofgoodthings/pseuds/ajarofgoodthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Visenya should have married Orys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too foreign for here, too foreign for home

Visenya should have married Orys.

As the eldest sister, Aegon was hers by right, and he done his duty in accepting and pursuing the betrothal declared by their parents - when the time came, Aegon had held true to his word, wedding and bedding her.

The bedding was the only circumstance in which Visenya felt they truly connected as husband and wife. It had begun slow and sweet, the first night, Aegon undoubtedly having been coached to have a care for her innocence - until Visenya herself had taken control, rolling them over to straddle his hips, a hand on his chest to keep him down.

“Do you really know me so little, brother?” She had asked, and since then it had become harder, faster, suiting the rough edges in them both. He had visited her bed nearly every night since in the last year, going so far as to ignore her moon blood. Visenya thought he might like the sight of it, in truth - she did - and their coupling was already so much like war already.

But that was all to change.

Rhaenys had remained unmarried, and nowhere near as discreet in her liaisons as Visenya had been, taking all manner of men to bed without shame.

Their parents had decided something must be done; Gods forbid Rhaenys produce a baseborn baby with Targaryen blood, though Aerion himself had already done exactly that, the proof of which was in the mirror of Aegon’s face that Orys wore, differed only by their complexions. Light to dark; purple to black. Personally, Visenya found it ludicrous that their parents could believe Rhaenys so stupid, incapable of the most basic precaution, and yet the matter of her youngest sibling’s betrothal had been, Visenya felt, the only conversation for months.

Until Aegon had stepped in.

Bards were already singing of them; Aegon and his second sister-wife. Rhaenys was beautiful in a way that Visenya was not. Lips plump and full, eyes a lilac shades lighter than the rest of their family, a body built in smooth, round curves. She was soft where Visenya was hard; smiles instead of smirks, laughed and loved so easily that it was impossible to feel anything but warmth in her presence.

The singers were painting Aegon as a man in lust, even love, for his youngest sister; they said that he had claimed her for desire. With this, Visenya could not help but agree; in truth, she could not help but understand.

Aegon would continue to visit Visenya’s bed, of course; not only did he want an Heir, Visenya knew that Rhaenys would not fuck him the way that she did, the way he needed - and most importantly, it was his duty by Visenya to satisfy her carnal needs.

It was infuriating.

Visenya was not jealous, she was sure; simply disgruntled. Aegon was a man who could and would be ruled by his will. He wanted Visenya, so he took her. He wanted Rhaenys, so he took her. As his wives they would rise with whatever else he took; Visenya knew of his dreams, his ambitions; Westeros. All Seven Kingdoms united as one, under him; under them. Winter Kings and Storm Kings and the Kings of the Rock all bending the knee - Aegon wanted absolute control, complete power. It all appealed to her; Visenya had her own reservoir of ambition, but above all she craved simplicity.

Rhaenys, with quick smiles and fast words, would be well suited to the life of a Queen, but Visenya desired a husband that wanted her above all others; she wanted steadiness and certainty. She wanted to raise sons into men who felt their swords as a part of their body, who felt no fear, and daughters who would know that the only circumstance in which their sex mattered was where the parts fit.

She should have married Orys.

It’s the man in question that shouts for the bedding, and Visenya rolls her eyes and lifts her wine to her lips as the hall erupts into noise.

It’s hardly worth the ceremony; neither of the couple are maids - even with each other, Visenya suspects - but the people must do as they will, and it is only Rhaenys’ laughing shout that calls Visenya’s attention from refilling her goblet.

“You must bring Visenya. This is a marriage of three, husband; it must be consummated as such,” Rhaenys says, and Visenya feels her eyes go wide and heat flood her cheeks as quick as it spreads along her thighs. Aegon hoots with laughter, loud and bawdy and half drunk, and there’s tittering and randy jokes about them as Visenya is lifted and stripped by the guests for the second time in her life.

She arrives last to Aegon’s chamber, and it’s Orys himself that sets her, nude, to her feet in the doorway, blocking any reaching hands from touching her with the simple bulk of his body.

“I am jealous, dear brother. You have the most beautiful women in the world for tonight, and the rest of your life,” he says, smirking, and Rhaenys, confident even in her nakedness, sets a hand on her hip and smiles.

“Someday, Baratheon, you may join us,” she suggests, and there’s more laughter as Orys kisses Visenya full on the lips before shutting the door, so she is hot and confused when it’s closed.

Facing her siblings again, Visenya folds her arms over her chest and brings herself to full height, giving them a look of disapproval. “A warning, perhaps, Rhaenys,” she chides, and her sister grins, and she’s beautiful, and it’s all so terribly unfair.

“I hardly had any myself. It was impossible to resist you, Senya; scowling so adorably into your cup as you were. I wanted to kiss the pout from your lips,” she explains and Visenya rolls her eyes again, ducking her head to hide her blush. “Don’t you agree, Aegon?” The question is tossed over her shoulder without looking; Rhaenys keeps her eyes on Visenya, eyeing her the same way Visenya’s seen her claim a man in a crowd.

“Absolutely,” he agrees from where he’s filling a goblet. “You are terribly endearing, sister. Particularly when you’re pouting,”

“Don’t tease her, husband,” Rhaenys scolds immediately, even as Visenya speaks over her; “More wine Aegon, really? You’ll hardly get an Heir that way.”

Aegon chuckles, shakes his head as he sips. “Water,” he says, puts a hand through the long, silver hair he’s pulled loose of its knot. “I must sober up if I’m to satisfy you both,”

“You have a moment for it. Sit. Sip,” Rhaenys advises, gesturing to the massive black and red chair that sits at the end of the table, loaded with cheese and fruit to sustain them throughout the night, and when he obeys Rhaenys rounds back on Visenya.

She comes forward, and Visenya, still against the door, feels hot and stifled in her skin, breathing hard and short until, suddenly, Rhaenys is kissing her.

A hand rests against Visenya’s neck; fingertips touch her jaw, light, trace a trail behind Visenya’s ear, and kissing Rhaenys is completely different from kissing Aegon.

She is soft where he is sharp - her sister is gentle, but it is not so infuriating where it was with Aegon. Rhaenys kisses her full, tongue tracing Visenya’s lips, and she moans before she can think of it.

She feels Rhaenys smile against it, and both hands come to either side of Visenya’s jaw, so Visenya grabs her by the waist and pulls her closer. Her sister stumbles, hands dropping her neck to fall flat against the door to steady them both, and Visenya feels wonderfully trapped.

Encouraged by the noise Rhaenys makes at Visenya’s tongue against hers, Visena runs her hands the length of the other’s body. She follows curves, one hand on her sister’s spine, holding them flush, while the other traces the bend of her hip, over her ribcage - and Visenya offers her own affinity, pulling Rhaenys’ lip between her teeth and catching the girl’s nipple with her nails.

It’s a good noise, the whimper she earns, and the moment Visenya releases her lip soft hands are tilting her head to expose Visenya’s neck.

Rhaenys kisses her there, all soft and light, and Visenya opens her eyes.

Aegon hasn’t moved, is watching them with the goblet hanging loose in his fingers, eyes lidded and half smiling. He’s hard, the familiar length of him pressed up against his belly, and he meets her eyes as he shifts to sit back a little more, spreading his legs like he does when she rides him.

Visenya’s attention is pulled back when teeth pull at her nipple, the bite stinging _good_ , and she curls fingers in her sister’s hair to keep her there. Rhaenys obeys for a moment, and then she’s gone, pressing lips along Visenya’s belly and bracketing her hips with her hands.

Fingers run to her thighs as Rhaenys drops to her knees, fingertips digging in, and one hand moves under Visenya’s knee, pulling. She lifts her leg as she’s bid and Rhaenys settles Visenya’s thigh on her shoulder, pressing light kisses to her skin while fingers drag between her legs, making Visenya jerk.

Rhaenys presses into her slowly, gentle as she’s been everywhere else, and moans absurdly into Visenya’s thigh when Visenya whimpers, pressing herself down against her sister’s hand.

It’s not as much as Aegon; she doesn’t feel as full, but there’s something so _good_ in the way she can feel Rhaenys’ fingers, specific as they thrust.

She opens her eyes again and Aegon has a hold of himself now, chest shining with sweat as his hand moves in strokes. Visenya imagines the movement matches the tempo of Rhaenys inside her - and then the other’s fingers hit just so and her tongue is wet and warm on Visenya’s clit and it doesn’t matter anymore.

Visenya comes once, then twice, and when Rhaenys comes up Visenya knows she’s reflecting her sister’s smile, if perhaps a tad more tired.

“Rhaenys,” Aegon’s voice breaks through suddenly, strained and interrupting the touch of Visenya’s tongue on the girl’s lips. Rhaenys looks over her shoulder and Visenya drops her hand lazily to the side to see their brother, jaw locked and hands clutching the arms of his chair, as if it’s all he can do to keep them off himself.

“Come, brother,” Rhaenys says, multiple orders in one, and he stands and crosses the room so quickly that Visenya wants to laugh. Instead, she tangles her fingers in Rhaenys’ hair, dragging nails over scalp when the girl drops her head to Visenya’s collar.

One of Aegon’s hands find Visenya’s waist and Visenya feels it from them both when he presses into their sister, his hand bruising at her hip and Rhaenys crying out into her neck.

It doesn’t take much, between Aegon snapping his hips and Visenya’s fingers on Rhaenys’ clit for the girl to come, loud and hard, into Visenya’s skin. Aegon is next, the girls pressed flush together with the force of his thrust - and then they’re all sweaty and panting together.

Aegon kisses the back of Rhaenys’ neck, then Visenya full on the lips, and smiles. “Give me a moment,” he starts, Rhaenys exhaling sharp as he pulls out of her, “I’ll have you next,” he assures, so Visenya laughs.

“I may need a breath and some water, Aegon,” she rebuffs, and Rhaenys giggles from where she’s back to pressing light kisses into Visenya’s neck.

“We’ve got the rest of our lives,” she says, and Visenya thinks that she may be married to exactly the right people.


End file.
